The wicked whip of word
Lashes welps upon
The starved psyche
Of the errogenous mind

Indeed the moment rises
In smoke and indigo sheets
Of layered heat pressing down
Into the flesh of desired
Impunity , iniquity , liquidity

Happy is a framed stated stanza
Of thine behind plastic cups
Of wine in sheds
Of gray aged wooden shingle
From long long ago

Was it "Bored-dough" or "Shabby"
Time will consume
But the experience
Leaves you panting
Thirsty for more